Target Panic
by isonicedyou
Summary: Brittany is an assassin. Cold, Calculating, and somehow stuck in Lima, Ohio. While trying to blend in, she unintentionally finds her target; but, something doesn't seem quite right. Brittana and misc. other pairings. M for language and later content.
1. Anchor

To say that what I do is a family business would almost be disgracing the idea of family. No matter how you sliced it though, essentially, my family revolved around our occupations. It was impressive, really, how you could keep something in a family for so many years, it being an exclusive secret for many, many, _many_ generations. It wasn't something we showed off, like how some families pride themselves in having a line of artists, bakers, or keeping a restaurant in the family; that was quaint, cute, and very much traditional. I guess, in a sense we are artists, in our own special way. What we do requires training, skill, finesse, calculations down to the smallest of details.

It's not that we aren't proud of it. I'm sure that somewhere in history, we were loved for what we did. Maybe. I do know you can see glimpses of my ancestors in paintings, unbeknownst to the actual artist, of course. They were painting figures that existed without existing, living above yet amongst the people. We lived under the guise of a perfect family, so unsuspecting. We always knew everything about our neighbors, the entire subdivision, even the entire city. We had to, it was part of the job. Knowing your surroundings, knowing who's who and who was important meant everything. Keeping a low profile was just as important. Thusly, we never stayed long in any one city. Or country, for that matter.

Throughout my childhood, I was shown off like a prize at _family_ gatherings. Somehow, even in my infancy, there was something special about me that everyone could see. Maybe, even then, my eyes held exactly what they were supposed to: nothing. I was the purest form the family had ever produced and I made sure to keep up that standard as I reached adulthood. I had people to impress.

I was so successful in the family business that, by the time I was 17, I had 7 homes: one on each continent. They called me 'perfect' for our line of work. Often, they doted on my 'charming' blue eyes. One could say they looked cold, as was my nature and all I knew, but I had the ability to make the cold so inviting, like the blues were suddenly a cool drink of water while you struggled through the hot, arid desert. I had the perfect mask. I could fool anyone. I had the power of innocence on my side, despite being everything but. I was the perfect specimen.

I was home schooled, both in my training and in my real school; yet, I continued to entertain the idea of normalcy, attending school after school wherever we stayed. My parents were never home, always away on business, so I took it upon myself to achieve anything normal. I was somewhat of a genius thanks to starting early in school and suffering through rigorous educational exercises. People like me had to be at the top of our games, we couldn't allow ourselves to slip. I was no exception, excelling was just easy. It was always easy for my family, it was like we had some sort of genetic predisposition to be the best at everything.

School to school, I pretended to be someone different. Sometimes, I allowed myself to show off, but mostly, I kept myself at an average level. Sometimes I pretended to be popular, sometimes I was indie, punk, anything to keep myself interested when I didn't have an assignment. It was easy to pretend to be someone I wasn't, I was taught to do so my whole life. This time, however, I decided to play dumb. I was naturally blond, and when I didn't act stupid, people looked at me strangely. I was expected to fall into a stereotype. I had always rejected it, until now.

It was the last year I could easily slide under the radar to attend high school, so I thought _why__not_? Give everyone what they want from me, that's what I've been doing my whole life, as it is.

Strangely, my family moved us to Lima, Ohio. It had to be the blandest place I'd ever been to. Cornfields, farmlands, and cows are more exciting in Europe where there are interesting landmarks to take in, historical beauty that inspired poetry, beautiful landscapes that literally left you breathless, if you had a thing for that. But out here, in Ohio, there was nothing. The closest thing to an interesting landmark was the local water tower.

I was puzzled. Normally, we lived on the coast, or in a prominent city while we worked on an assignment. If anything important was going on, we were privy to it, and all I could wonder was, what could possibly be so important in this little town?

I guess I should elaborate on what brings me to and fro, traipsing all around the globe. How I came to all my successes, how I became famous without being known or seen for what I really am.

I'm a professional killer. An assassin, if you will. We pride ourselves in what little people know about us, what little they can ever find out before they're silenced, how easily we can take a life.

I'll never forget how the tips of my light hair were tarnished red the first time the knife slid so effortlessly through his throat. The blood was rich and warm as it hit my cheek from the proximity. The steel blade was impossibly sharp, it was like cutting through butter, and I was numb. Everything my training had taught me, I followed to a tee.

I was only 14, on assignment in Italy. My family and I all had our targets. We were there on _family__vacation_, the thought of a normal vacation just felt weird. I spent my time stalking and hunting my prey. He was a corrupt banker. We made a point to do as much good as we could, but it was hard to hide the fact that we were killing someone. Taking a father, a brother, or a husband. Maybe we were taking all of those away. I was raised not to care.

My parents had little involvement in my training. We were related by blood but the relationship stopped there. Besides funneling money into my pockets before I could provide for myself, we had little contact if we weren't on a mission, and often they never helped me. I was raised to be alone and to be completely self-reliant.

Kills in places like Italy were exotic and motivational. I felt like I was a part of something important, but being prompted to Ohio just felt low and lazy. What kind of contract had I accepted? Dangerous cow tippers on the loose, this has to stop.

I chuckled to myself. I was often lost in thought, and despite being cold mostly, I was always at home around me and only me. I didn't hold other attachments, so it was easy to move in and out of a situation. My upbringing taught me that love did not exist. Whatever sense of family that existed in my life was purely for the sake of continuing the lineage, passing down the knowledge which we had held for generations. Really, it was a bit like a family recipe, no one else could know the ingredients, but some could see your handy work. The business was rather lucrative, anyone that could stay alive long enough could see that.

It was easy to forge all of the documents I needed. It was just part of the training. Everything seemed like part of my training. Sometimes, I wondered how everyone else made it in life without knowing what I did. Everything was so simple, really, it was almost funny. I could outsmart any government computer system, law enforcement was a joke, and schools were just fun to mess with. I registered myself under Brittany S. Pierce. It was almost an inside joke with myself. A throwback to the first time I'd heard music during one of my first hits.

'_Hit__me__baby__one__more__time__'__,_it echoed through the parking garage as the bullet left the snug barrel of my silenced 9mm. My targets head slumped forward onto the steering wheel as I climbed from the backseat, completely unnoticed. I had tracked his movements perfectly and knew he was the last to leave the office building, and always rather late. Normally, my assignments were completed without any ambience, or any interruption. But I couldn't help but smile at the irony in the tune. Though it only took one skilled shot to put down my target, the song seemed to speak for the moment. It was dark, I thought, for something like that to coincide, but nevertheless it formed a memory on that day.

**. . .**

I arrived to Mckinley High in a somewhat unassuming car, a midnight blue Astin Martin Vanquish was unassuming right? Maybe I should have chosen a different car from the expansive garage this morning, but at this school it seemed like tractors should have been the ride of choice. Anything extra would have been flashy.

I got there early enough, so as to avoid any looks, and mainly to avoid people in general. It wouldn't take me anytime to slip into character, but I didn't want to be rushed into it unnecessarily. I surveyed the area as I slid out from behind the wheel clad in heels, dark skinny jeans, and a black leather jacket. Literally, this place was a barren wasteland that had been dropped in the middle of a cowpie infested cornfield.

As I watched the other students file in, in scarce numbers, it was still rather early, I couldn't help but feel a little over dressed as well. Maybe I didn't have to play the dumb blonde or a wholesome girl. Maybe I could be something exotic, or at least something grander, more exciting than this place and its people. The other girls were dressed so casually, no uniforms here. I had done the whole Catholic school girl thing, but the things my family knew and had taught me about institutions made going to private schools more of a joke, entertainment for me when I was bored. What could they make up this time to cover something else up? It was rather amusing- coming from an upbringing that was all about hiding- how poorly an entire group of men, in charge of so many people and their faiths, hid their own dysfunctions.

A group of, what I guessed were, football players strutted by my car, giving both me and the car a once, twice, thrice, over. I smiled sweetly, already working my facade as I shut the door to the car. One mohawked boy raised his chin in a cocky manner towards me, but continued to walk along with a perpetual smirk. His equally tall, equally buff and tough friends walked by with the similar expressions.

As quickly as I had smiled, it faded as soon as they were out of sight. The hot stench of a cigarette infiltrated my nostrils, assaulting my senses. I hated the smell of smoke. It lingered on your body, made you easy to detect, and really did nothing for your body. What was the point? it was an all around negative thing to do to yourself. The clicking of heels followed the smell, creeping up the asphalt slowly. Confidence rang out with each click to the pavement, like a model on a runway, but more like the CEO of a business marching down the halls. Authority, confidence, bitch. All of it clanged from her heels.

The bud of the cigarette landed short of my feet after I'd heard the flick. I scowled, littering also aggravated me. Cleanliness was a top priority, and I was the first to admit, but to myself and myself only, that I may have taken it a bit too far, bordering on obsessive. I tore my eyes from the ground and slowly traveled up the elongated, tanned legs attached to the mouthy heels. She seemed to go by slowly, maybe we were both assessing each other. Her dark sunglasses made it difficult for me to see her line of vision, but I could see the slight shift in her head, almost a subtle nod as her eyes traveled up my body.

She passed in a skintight blue dress with a white jacket. This was definitely not a Catholic school. The dress left nothing to the imagination, I thought for a moment that it may have been painted on. I followed her gaze with my own as she continued to sashay by, putting an unconscious slight _umph_ to her hips' sway. Much like the boy with the mohawk, her chin titled up, finally done with her assessment, I assumed. Shortly after, she turned her head and walked into the building.

Funny, it had seemed like such a long time for her to walk by. Really, it was merely seconds. I could tell many things from her strut passed, however. One, she was a senior. I could tell both from the parking spot her sporty red coupe occupied- rather close to my own car- and from her arrogant, '_I__run__this__place__'_ spring in her step. Two, she's definitely a cheerleader. She looked far too popular and far too slim -yet athletic- to have played any other sport. I can't imagine their golf team looked anything like her. Finally, despite her efforts to size me up, I could tell that somewhere, she had some sort of insecurities locked up behind that stoney exterior.

Yes, I only needed one glance, one sway of the hip, one clang of the heel to tell me all that I needed to know. I had found the person at the top of the popularity pyramid. Befriending her would be easy. With popularity, even in these small social networks at schools, came popularity outside of the school. Her family was probably of some higher social standing.

I had planned on trying to enjoy this year at high school. Despite already having the equivalent to a high school diploma- in nearly every major country- I still wanted to go through the process of graduation. But something about the darker girl that walked by me told me I should have done my homework on this place beforehand.

I raised an intrigued eyebrow, it had been awhile since I'd gone 'commando' into a mission. It was a term we liked to use when we were basically blind in our surroundings, when we were naked of our essential information, all the information it took to be the best we could be. But like I said earlier, we were born to do this. Being equipped, that's what we did. I was naturally gifted.

I clicked the top left button on the keypad of the key-set and heard the low hum of the car beep, signaling that the doors were locked. I smothered the cigarette bud with the bottom of my shoe, hoping the stench hadn't permeated my clothes already, and I walked towards the building. The brown worn leather satchel I carried over my shoulder swung at my hip. It contained a few notebooks and pens, just the essentials for my first day of class.

I walked with conviction, but also maintained a level of shyness in my step that conveyed that I was new. I allowed myself brief moments of vulnerability to let others pick up on. My steely eyes darted over my class list. English was first, I had to make an effort to be a little late. It would get the attention from all the right people, emphasize that I was new, and I could get my show on the road.

Still, I was mildly troubled. My parents had been so vague about our assignment here, they still hadn't given me any of the details. I allowed myself to trail off with this thought, while I walked the halls. Though I appeared to be reading the crisply folded schedule in my hand, I was completely zoned out.

The warning bell for class rang and snapped me back into reality, but I didn't come back fast enough. I ran straight into the same pungent smell of cigarette smoke masking a faint cherry scent. I felt my legs tangle with hers as I began to fall forward, but my heightened reflexes prepared me to hit the ground. Instinctively, I reached out behind the head of thick black hair that also fell in front of me. I cupped my hand behind her dark neck and braced myself against the floor with my hand next to her head.

This wasn't looking as vulnerable or as ditzy as a real fall. I looked rather skilled, I inwardly smirked to myself until I realized I was inches from supple lips forming a disgusted and confused line. Her tan skin was a decent contrast compared to my own. A few people stopped in the hall, but I continued to hover over her body. Everything was still moving eerily slow.

I blinked and was suddenly catapulted back into the real time stream.

"What the fuck!" She cursed at me, and wiggled beneath me. Angular lines forming right above her eyebrows.

I let go of her head clumsily but still making sure it didn't smack the ground as I fumbled to stand up. It was time to play my part.

"I'm so sorry," I breathed out, starting my frantic dialogue. "This place is just super huge, and so complicated, I got lost. Then I thought I knew where I was going, but I realized I was really just lost again and it's so so confusing, I jus-" I rambled intentionally, but she cut me off, something softening in her expression.

"Hey," her brows furrowed signaling that the gears were turning in her mind, "just watch where you're going next time, alright?" Her lips pressed in a thin line, but her voice was small and quiet, like the words were only meant for me.

I helped her up, but one of the girls who had been walking with her chimed in, "watch your step, giant. Maybe next time you won't be late to the bean stalk." I almost chuckled. I was tall, rather proud of being tall, but it struck me funny how easily I could tell this girl was a protégé. She was awful with her comments that were supposed to sting. I grimaced, feigning sadness as I looked down and picked up my, now crumpled, schedule.

The girl snickered with a couple of other girls behind her. Her makeup was far too heavy, trying to hide some hideous acne and I could tell she was, at most a sophomore. The light laughing stopped abruptly as the darker girl dusted herself off.

"First of all, if you're going to follow me everywhere pretending to be me, we're gonna need a few rules, mmk?" She turned towards the younger girl who visibly shrunk under her gaze. Though the, I guessed Latina, was only a bit taller than her even in heels, her presence was demanding and commanding, dominating.

"Number one, if that's the best insult you can think of, just stop, just no." She shook her hands while holding up one finger and continued lifting a second finger, "number two, you don't insult unless _I_ insult, got it?" The girl shook a bit before nodding, pressing her back up against the locker, realizing she was trapped under the older girl's shadow. Finally, a third finger sprang from her fist, "Lastly, get out of here.

"There is so much makeup on your face," She gestured towards her own face now making a swirling motion with her hand, "I feel like I could smear your face across the wall and paint the whole school that pasty flesh color you call a skin tone." Her tanned hands gave a slight push to the smaller girl as she ushered her and her two other friends away from us. I let a subtle smirk rest on my lips before the dark-haired girl turned back towards me.

"What a bitch, right?" She gave a chuckle. The halls were empty, and I couldn't help but wonder if her lighter mood was because she didn't have to perform for her audience anymore or if I had passed some sort of secret test in the parking lot earlier.

I returned her chuckle half heartedly remembering that I was still supposed to be lost. I knew exactly where I was going. If anything, I always researched floor-plans and memorized them down to the measurements. The crumpled paper in my hands rustled under my fingertips as I stared down at it dumbly, giving it an almost dopey glare.

I felt her eyes hover over the paper, "English with Higgins" she mused under her breath. "Coincidence," she smiled slightly, "that's where I'm headed." I smiled down to her watching her perk up a bit and begin to transition back into her hallway walk.

"Stick with me, kid and you'll make it. I'm Santana. Santana Lopez" She offered me a pinky finger. "Hot bitches get to class late, got that?" She shrugged like it was fact and waited for me to hook my finger around hers. I raised my eyebrow at the gesture, but replaced it quickly with a sweet smile and a nod, taking her tanned pinky in mine.

I inwardly smiled. She treated me differently. All of those childhood Christmas parties showcased that I was different, and beyond the boundaries of my family, it was no different. I could fool anyone, I could crack the hardest of shells.

I waited a bit while she walked me down the hall, her chest puffed out slightly. "My name's Brittany, by the way." Her pinky curled around mine a bit tighter. "Thanks for that, back there." I worked my shy angle, ducking my head slightly to look at our feet treading across the bland tile.

"Nothin' to it," she smugly answered with an upward nod. "Now, come on Britts, we've gots some Shakespeare to tackle." She opened the door and walked in with a confident smirk on her face.

Even the teacher didn't challenge her for being late. I realized I was innocent by association, and by a twist of fate, fell on the top of the food chain when I tripped in the hall. Only ten minutes in this school, and everyone was grade A meat below me.

She sat down and nodded towards the vacant seat next to her while the teacher continued the Iambic Pentameter lecture we had interrupted.

The first half of day had gone by smoothly. I had decent instructors, or so it seemed, and I had a few other classes with Santana. She didn't speak much in the classes, and surprised me by being rather studious. I pretended, throughout most of the lectures, to zone out. I had already learned it all, so there was no use in trying to participate. Besides, it would only lend further credit to my newest facade.

I stared longingly in math class at the wall mounted clock. The teacher droned on about the quadratic equation, reviewing everything the other kids in the class had surely forgotten over the summer. I hadn't really paid attention for most of the class, it was hard to see passed the overexcited Jewish kid's hair in front of me. He turned around periodically to stare at me and attempted some sort of flirting, giving me winks that looked more like he had something in his eye. The final time he turned to me, he leaned back on his chair. Santana took the opportunity and gave a forceful, unseen kick to the back chair leg, causing him to fly from the chair and onto the floor.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you staring is impolite, Jewfro?" She smirked as the boy pulled his glasses from the floor and his brows met in confusion. I turned to glance at Santana, and offered her an uneasy smile. She definitely had some fire to her.

"I got you," she mouthed to me silently with a small glint in her eye that I couldn't quite place. I nodded in return as the teacher tried to settle the class' laughter. As soon as everyone was quiet, however, the dismissal bell rang out.

We got up to leave, but my phone vibrated in my pocket. I looked to Santana and held up my finger, allowing myself a minute to enter into the busy halls full of kids trying to get to their next class. I slid my index finger over the lock screen and answered the call from a number I had _affectionately_named 'Momma' in my contacts.

"Hello, Sweetie, I hope I'm not interrupting anything but I have some errands for you to run for me later." The woman greeted me with a falsely warm tone. How domestic, I thought. We had codes for things, and I knew I was finally going to learn more about my assignment.

"Sure thing, Momma." I called, equally as sweet, even dawning a small smile on my lips as I leaned my side against the wall.

"I'm sending you the grocery list right now."

I looked around to make sure there was no one else beside me and pulled my phone away, somewhat discreetly. The text loaded up on the screen and I blinked a few times, willing the image to go away.

"Make it quick, sweetheart. I'll see you tonight for dinner." I heard the click indicating that she had ended the call. My heart sank as I stared blankly at the screen with a picture of a beaming raven haired girl from a school photo.

Soon, my phone was a light with dozens of images as well as documents and information pertaining to her file. I scrolled down the screen with my fingertip and landed on the name of my target under the picture: SANTANA LOPEZ.

**. . .**

I knew something like this was bound to happen. It was the nature of my job and the very reason I allowed myself no attachments. However, somehow, seeing how she treated me so different from others made me feel uneasy about this hit. But it didn't matter, I had to go through with it. I had oaths, I had a family, or a lineage rather, to protect. More importantly, my reputation was at stake. I couldn't abandon my perfect record and be known for going soft.

I heard the familiar clang of heels and quickly put the phone back in my pocket. Santana came strolling up with the Mohawked boy I'd seen from the parking lot earlier not far behind her, following like a whipped puppy. She had a scowl on her face, that I could only imagine originated from the stalky football player. I turned to them and saw her nudge him away.

"Cut it out, Puckerman, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"Baby, you know how hungry the beast gets if he doesn't get a little action. Whatever happened to being my go to?" He flashed a cheesy grin at her, I figured this must have worked on most of the women here, I think he must have thought so too.

Santana's expression hardened as she fumbled with her locker combination. "I'm pretty sure any hopes you had of getting laid stopped when you knocked up the Celibacy Queen two years ago. Besides, the _beast_," she mocked him with a small smirk, "needs to get well acquainted with your good friend Jill." She held her smaller hand out to his larger right hand, counting each of the fingers in a pointed way.

Puck glanced my way and I shrugged, acting confused despite holding in a chuckle. His eyes glossed over with renewed determination as he made one large step towards me, placing a calloused hand by my head at the locker behind me. He leaned in and parted his lips to speak, a cocky eyebrow raised.

"Beat it, Puck." Santana warned him before he could even begin. She gave him a daring glare and pushed him away with a simple glance. He sighed in defeat and stalked away down the lesser crowded hall. I followed him with my eyes before focusing back on the aggravated girl beside me.

"Thanks," I offered simply, letting my gaze fall on her toned legs for a small moment.

I caught her lips pulling in a smile out of the corner of my eye and I couldn't help but return the gesture. "You _hungry_?" Something about the tone in her voice made me uneasy, it was alluring, sensual, and a little breathier than it should have been. Of course, I was probably over exaggerating. I was preoccupied thinking of all of the ways to silently carry out my objective. I still couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't talking about food.

Still, I played dumb and nodded bluntly with a toothy grin. "Starved," I stated with a nod for emphasis. There was a catch in my throat I was desperately trying to ignore as she bent over after carelessly dropping a few coins of, what I assumed was, her lunch money. I noticed her eyes shifting to the corner to catch a glimpse of my reaction.

I allowed my lips to curve into a satisfied smirk, letting her see every bit of it. Perhaps seduction would be the perfect way to eliminate her, after all.


	2. The Truth of a Liar

Hey guys! I'm really happy for all of the reviews so far! I swear I checked my e-mail, and y'all are freaky fast with brittana fics. But that's what I love about everyone haha. Thanks for all of the encouragement, I really do appreciate it. Originally, I had about 50% of this chapter written but then my hard drive crashed after dropping my mac haha, so this is a rewrite, but I decided to plan out the chapter a little better, so hopefully it'll be alright. Let me know what you all think!

By the way, there's a song in this chapter, if you're interested in listening to some of it as it's supposed to play in the story: You Know My Name by Chris Cornell

So here's chapter 2, enjoy!

**. . .**

Lunch was underway and Santana quickly lead me to a small table, nestled under a shade tree, in the back of the outdoor courtyard. I took a seat across from her on the bench seat, putting my salad on the table. I felt her heeled foot cross under the table to my jean-clad leg, grazing ever so slightly. Her eyes were focused on her salad, however. She was trying to make this seem accidental, but I could barely notice. I was too busy pushing down the tingling in my spine and the flips in my stomach. I was just hungry, that must have been it.

Santana busied herself telling me all about the people sitting around us. I should correct myself, she was actually making fun of them, and glaring at any passersby with full trays of food who dared to chance sitting with us. One poor boy tried to sit next to her and ended up with Spaghetti sauce in place he would probably never find. I smirked, acting unbothered as I unceremoniously stuffed lettuce, lightly coated in ranch dressing, into my mouth.

"You weren't kidding when you said you were starving," she commented with a genuine giggle. I looked up, connecting my ice blue eyes with her brown eyes hooded by thick lashes. My cheeks were slightly swollen, puffed out from the amount of salad in my mouth.

There it was again, her leg brushing on mine. I nearly choked. This time it was slow and cautious, meant to draw my attention. Discomfort was a subtle form of what I was experiencing. I willed all of the butterflies in my stomach to be caught in a net or to just shrivel and die. I was supposed to be the one in control here, dammit. She had to bend to my will to make this all work out. My body was betraying me in a way it never had before.

I shook my head, not allowing myself to make eye contact with her. She was testing me and I was going to pass. Moreover, I was going to win.

I could totally do this, I could just slip a little heavy water into her "Sue Sylvester Master Cleanse" she was holding and she would be dead in about a week, tops. Maybe that wasn't the best option, though. After all, it would take several doses, throughout the day, to get the amount in her body needed to do the trick. I would have to somehow get enough chances to slip it in which would probably raise her suspicions. I asked to smell it once, already. Personally, it seemed like poison enough as it was, so I wondered if actual poison would do much of anything at all.

At any rate, I lost my opportunity to pour in the toxic liquid because she wouldn't stop staring at me. In fact, that was becoming my problem the more the day went on. Her eyes were constantly on me, and though they were beautiful,_ absolutely gorgeous_, it just made me feel guilty. I couldn't kill her in broad daylight. I mean, technically, the symptoms and effects would hit her much later. Her parents would probably find her body, or she could die at school in front of all of her friends. What friends she seemed to have and probably didn't scare away, at least. That just seemed wrong and against my usual style. Though it would be discreet, it was too ruthless. I didn't want to drag this out any longer than it needed to be.

Ricin was another tool I used when I wanted to be discreet, but I didn't come prepared with my special ring to deliver the poison. Perhaps tomorrow I could hold her hand and prick her just right with the needle. That seemed humane enough.

I shook my head, realizing I was probably zoning out. I would just let the answers come naturally to me and I wouldn't fuss about it. It wouldn't be right to kill her at school, I would have to find another way.

We had long since abandoned our salads, instead we focused on casual conversation. Her leg continued its course up my own, this time daring further up, as high as her shorter legs would reach before trailing back down. I slowly bit down on my bottom lip, dropping my head slightly without breaking eye contact. I would allow her just a glimpse of how she was affecting me.

"So I barely know anything about you" she started. "You're not from around here or I would have noticed," her lips were poised in a sly smile and her words dripped with lust. I was growing more uneasy. Despite her trying to conceal the want she felt, it was radiating from her being. Her eyes trailed my body, heating my skin with every glance. I had to mentally pat myself on the back, I guess I was hotter than I thought.

I glanced up the length of the white plastic fork she had playing near her lips until I reached the supple destination. They were parted, just slightly, the white plastic being toyed with by perfect teeth absentmindedly gnawing at the pointed tip. I curled my lips in a satisfactory smirk and folded my arms across the table, leaning closer.

"I've always lived everywhere, really. New York, Paris, Hong Kong, you name it. My parents are in the military, so I've traveled a lot." I shrugged while the lie slipped easily from my lips. It wasn't a huge stretch. My parents could easily be considered agents, and we did live everywhere in the world. I was surprised I didn't just make up a story like normal. Living in California my whole life until my father got a new job offer, that was my normal spiel. Something about Santana made me want to tell her more of the truth.

I inwardly frowned, but I did say this year was going to be different for me. I just wouldn't let these sudden ideas and notions take me over. I had complete self-control. Yep, I had this in the bag.

"I hate how most people call me a military brat because I don't really see how I'm a brat, I guess. Maybe I just don't get it." The afterthought was added for her remorse as I found something interesting to stare at on the table to tear my eyes away from her deep brown ones. My voice was a bit small, in search of a little pity.

"Hmm," her low hum rang out slowly as if she was contemplating what to say. "I think it's just a term people like to throw around, but don't let anyone put a label on you. I don't think anyone deserves that. Labels just lead to judgement, and that just fucking sucks." There was a sense of finality to her last statement, and everything from her slightly vulnerable tone of voice to the way her brow lines creased with the passing of memories told me that she was saying was more than just friendly advice. She was wounded somewhere down the line. Maybe she was more than just a pretty face, and maybe she really clawed her way to the top of the social pyramid. Either way, I knew her life was probably not all that easy, but I wasn't about to pry into her personal life. The less I knew about her, the easier all of this would be for me.

It wasn't selfish, just right.

Does a lion befriend a gazelle before it becomes its afternoon meal? I didn't think so. Also, before anyone asks, no I'm not a cannibal.

"I don't let it bother me too much," I let her heavier words slide off with a reassuring smile. "And whatever it is that's been said about you, I'm sure you got them back for it. You're tough and you're beautiful. Anyone would be totally dumb to mess with you." My smile widened as her face brightened a bit.

Santana's head jerked up in a cocky nod, her brunette curls rustled at her shoulders, "damn straight." What I had come to know as her signature smirk spread across her lips, all of the pain from moments ago was forgotten by her features. Just like me, she had a mask.

I watched her poke at her salad a bit with an amused expression, but as her eyes darted behind me, I followed their path to a strutting blonde. A similar red sports bottle was clutched in her hand that I guessed also held the atrocious master cleanse Santana had gone on about earlier. Students around her parted like the Red Sea, moving as far away as possible, but some were too awestruck or too busy cowering to move.

Much like Santana, the spring in her step radiated power and confidence and if the scared students around her were any indication, I knew she was popular. However, I also noted her red and white uniform gave her that power. She had a kind face but it was worn in the slightest way that told me she had been through something big in her young life. I knew it because I had the same way with my features. The skirt brushed her creamy thighs with each step, swaying like a delicate dancer along her hips. Her sun kissed hair was pulled impossibly tight into a high pony tail that accentuated the natural upward pull of her brows.

"Santana," the new girl's soft voice acknowledged her as she took a seat beside her. There was an exchange of nods that took place between the two girls as Santana took a bite from her salad for the first time. I could tell she was trying to fake disinterest now that the girl had sat down, but I was also a little surprised that she hadn't shooed the blond away yet. She really did have friends after all.

"You know, Coach will be furious if you show up without your uniform," her green eyes darted down to the salad Santana was playing with. Her tone was soft but it had an air of command in it that told me, perhaps, this girl was a superior in someway to Santana.

However, when a perfectly manicured hand swiped a napkin across the beginnings of a smirk, I knew that they were actually equals. This girl could keep up with Santana's spark.

"Hold onto your habit, Fabray, my uniform's stuck at the cleaners. Besides," Santana shrugged closing her eyes and swallowing the remains of her salad, "tryouts aren't until Friday. Don't you think it's a little presumptuous to be wearing it already? You don't even know if she'll let you back on the team, Quinn." The glint in her brown eyes was dangerous, I knew she was bordering on something sensitive.

Quinn, as I now knew her, took one short, unsure glance towards me before returning her attention back to Santana, "I think you're the one assuming things. You'll never make _co-captain_," a quirk of the eyebrows and a smirk signaled the daggers were coming out, but I could tell these two had a dirty friendship and while prickly, they both were probably close for a long time. "...if you don't prepare ahead of time."

"Blah, blah, blah," Santana laughed a bit, shrugging off any bit of malice Quinn's words contained. She waved her tanned hand in the air before finally sliding it onto the crisp back of Quinn's cheer uniform. Her free hand gestured towards me, "anyway, this is my friend Brittany. I was just getting to know her when you so kindly interrupted." She adopted her sweetest smile she could muster.

Quinn's perfectly shaped brow raised towards me, a dirty smirk graced her lips with intrigue, "I'm_ sure_ you were." She sized me up with a glance, keeping the smirk, though now it seemed somewhat satisfied.

It was my turn to cough uncomfortably, but Quinn's outstretched hand cut through any of the tension I was feeling, "I'm Quinn, if you didn't catch it, Santana's best friend. I hope she hasn't been giving you too much trouble. She's genuinely a hard ass bitch." She smiled slyly as Santana shrugged matter-of-factly.

"I would hit her, but it's honestly true." There was a hint of resigned triumph lingering in her words and maybe a dash of pride.

A giggle escaped my lips before I could stop it, "she's actually been really great to me. Almost like my guardian angel or something." I shrugged with a smile, curling a small lock of blond hair with my index finger. It wasn't a lie, at all, really. Santana really had kept people at bay that I'd rather not deal with, and regardless of the professional _nature_ of our relationship, I was thankful.

Quinn gave me a look of disbelief as if I had just told her that I was Jesus in the flesh.

"Clearly, we are not talking about the same person, here. _Unless..._" her eyes narrowed considerably and traveled to Santana who returned a confused look.

"What?"

"Oh nothing."

I didn't have much to say, so I was content to sit back and watch the two interact with amusement splaying on my features.

"Tell me before I beat it out of you."

"It's nothing."

"You have 3 seconds."

"I'm onto you that's all." Quinn threw up her hands, feigning a defensive move. Her smirk never left her lips.

I had an idea about what she was referring to. Santana had been anything but subtle with her glances, how she treated me, how she behaved around me. She either seemed to think I was very friendly or very _friendly_. Her stare made me feel practically naked, and I was pretty sure she'd had me mentally down to my underwear a few times today already.

I wouldn't lie about it. I had slept with my fair share of men and women. Sometimes I even kept track of the number, if I felt like it. Sometimes for missions, sometimes just for fun. Mostly for missions. However, if I were being honest, no one had affected me so soon like she had.

I watched her exchange with Quinn, zoning out the topic of their conversation and simply focusing on her. The way she threw her head back with laughter, the way her nose scrunched up in the slightest way when she was confused, the small lines that formed above her eyebrows, and the shape of her eyes nearly closing when she smiled. It was all quite beautiful, as if she were masterfully planned out by an architect. _What a shame_, I thought. She was going to go to waste at the simple click of a gun. My gun.

I noticed Quinn returning her attention to me, so I tuned back into the conversation.

"Anyway," she started while taking a sip of the grotesque liquid in her bottle. Her face didn't even flinch, obviously used to the flavor of sand and various no calorie liquids and probably motor oil or something equally ridiculous, "Santana was telling me that your parents are in the military, so you've lived everywhere? What's your favorite place you've ever lived?" Her emerald eyes lit up a bit with curiosity.

I played with the cup of water in my hands smiling as I took a small sip, "New York, totally."

Both pairs of eyes were gleaming with interest in what I had to say. I could tell that I was a rarity in these parts. Most of the students here had probably never been outside of Ohio, let alone the country, like I had. I wasn't actually even born in the States. I was born in Paris while my mother was on an assignment, and even though my parents and I returned to Amsterdam- my parents' birthplace- once a year to meet with our family, I was just a nomad of sorts. I really had no place I called home.

"You just feel like your part of something awesome and bigger than you, there. Like you can feel the city's heart beat." Truthfully, I adored New York. Most weekends, if I could afford the time, I went back to my penthouse apartment to stay. There was truly nothing like that city to make you feel alive, and, somedays, I needed that reminder.

"Wow, that must be amazing." Quinn smiled with wonder and a soft voice, "we've only ever been once for a couple of days and it was just long enough to captivate me." She took another swig from the red container, "I can't wait to go back someday, once I get out of this place." She sighed somewhat defeatedly.

I never knew what it felt like to be trapped somewhere, so it was hard for me to sympathize. In return, I only nodded.

"Yeah, as much as I hate to say it," Santana's eyes fluttered down as if what she was about to say shamed her, "Quinn and I are in the Glee club here and we made it to Nationals last year, in New York. We lost because our team is full of idiots, but it was still pretty fun to go to the Big Apple."

As soon as the words left her mouth, the lunch bell rang signaling the end of the period. Quinn got up, stretching a bit. I grabbed Santana's salad bowl and placed it in my own to throw away, earning a happy, throaty hum from the brunette.

"Speaking of Glee club, you should bring Brittany in to practice today and see if she wants to join," Quinn proposed to an already objecting Santana.

"No, no and no. She probably doesn't want to sing back up to Dwarf-enschnauz von Streisand and her show tunes."

"_Okay,_" the word was long and drawn out from Quinn's lips, "first of all, it's Rachel and how about we let Brittany decide for herself like the big girl she is?"

Before Santana could interject, I asserted myself, "I'd love to." I added an extra note of chipper and a bright smile for effect, linking my pinky with Santana's and lightly bumping my shoulder against her's to qualm any rebuttals as we started through the doorway to the hall.

**. . .**

The last few classes went by pretty slowly. I had come accustomed to sending death glares towards Jacob Bin Israel. He insisted on sitting next to me in two or three of the last classes. I was thankful for Puck who scared him off, berating him for giving Jews a bad rep. Despite being pretty dense and mostly stupid, the mo-hawked tanned skinned, bigger Jew wasn't all that bad. He was actually pretty nice, and generally respectful, if you overlooked the lustful gloss permanently installed over his eyes.

He didn't bother me or ask me anything suggestive, but I really wasn't paying attention to anything he said. I just smiled a dopey, lazy smile throughout most of his ramblings about how awesome he was, his conquests, and his pool cleaning business. Somehow all of them went hand in hand, and I realized I was probably paying more attention than I should have been.

Thankfully, I didn't have to endure it much longer. I thought my emotional scowling was going to get stuck permanently.

The bell rang and the students filed out; Puck ran off after a younger girl in an illegally short skirt. asking her if she had any pipes needing to be unclogged or a pool in need cleaning. I just shook my head while I collected my notepads, placing them back in my leather satchel.

I slipped my phone out from the tight front pocket of my jeans and slid my finger easily over the lock screen. I needed some sort of reassurance and I wanted to make sure that the hit I was dealing with was kosher. Wow, this was really starting to sound all Jewish. Regardless, I really just needed to be sure that Santana was a threat, in some way, to the greater good.

Had Santana not had a knack for sneaking up behind me while I was checking her file, I would have known much earlier, all I needed to know. I scrolled over multiple slides of data and general background information, cursing technology under my breath. I wasn't sure why everything had to be digitized now. It wasn't that I was against technology, but for my bread and butter, I much preferred the manilla envelopes and the crinkling of paper beneath my fingertips.

I sighed deeply, coming to rest upon the reports section. Here, I would finally see why the hit was ordered. I brushed my fingertip over the glass screen to access it, but, to my dismay and visible frown, I was met with an error message: '_Error: A0020098B Source File Locked. Requires Special Permissions'_. This was _exactly_ the reason I preferred paper. There were only two possible scenarios that would offer an error like this: first and least likely, someone was challenging me for the hit, or second and most likely, it was just a simple technical error I would have to overlook for now. I was banking on the latter.

The cold metal of the lockers I was leaned against went straight through my jacket, cooling the irritated heat radiating from my skin. No one would challenge _me._ I was renowned as a world class killer, I was the last of a very long line of bests, but most importantly I was _feared_. Crossing my family, it was just something that was unheard of, and in the realm of assassinations, thinking you can one-up the best of the best was as good as slapping them across the face, spitting venom in their eyes, and stomping on their toes all at once. It didn't happen. People just didn't go there.

I spread my lips in a wide smirk. I had nothing to worry about. It was definitely just a technical error.

With the familiar click of heels approaching me, I slid the phone gently back into it's home on my waist. I turned to inhale that same sweet cherry scent that gave me a slight buzz of excitement and arousal. It was the smell of my future success.

"Britt-Britt," she greeted me with a warm, firm smile that sent a pang of guilt rolling down my spine and through my stomach lining. I pushed it back, sporting a nod and equally as warm smile. Nicknames already. She moves quickly, but I would be lying if I said that I didn't feel the same allure, the same thing that found me defying everything I thought about emotions and somehow caught me wanting to abandon my professionalism.

Without many words, Santana walked by me with an outstretched pinky, slightly curled with the indication that mine belonged there, and lead me towards the choir room.

**. . .**

The room was quaint, lined with various trophies that oddly did not belong to the show choir, but rather the cheer squad. The shelves had various trinkets for learning or storage and chairs were full of eager kids. Familiar faces I had seen throughout most of the day. Some I shared classes with, but most I did not know or remember the names of. The piano was off to the side accompanied by a man with glasses and a red beard that gave a young Kris Kringle a run for his money.

He looked a bit zoned out, kind of how I wanted to be. I guessed he wasn't the teacher in charge of the club. No one seemed to pay him any attention.

Santana pulled me towards an empty chair by Quinn and we sat down. Most of the others were too busy talking to notice me in the room and here I realized that Santana's presence seemed like just an addition, not an overwhelming pressure in the room like it did in our classes.

I scanned over the small crowd taking in the diversity of people here. This was a place for people to come together and be free from social barriers. I smirked, Santana's social standing gave her little power here, or so I thought.

A man who I recognized as my Spanish teacher came sprinting into the class, probably fresh from the copy room judging by the thick stack of sheet music in his hands. He ran his hand down the front of his tie, smoothing it under his black vest.

"Sorry I'm late everybody," his dark eyes perused the room. I assumed he was taking a head count. When he reached me, his eyes sparkled with excitement and acceptance that made me a little nervous.

"Ahh, I see we have a new face in here, today." He clapped his hands together firmly with a twinkle in his eye and a smile so big and bright it would have powered the school during an outage.

Everyone quieted down as Santana stood and gently tapped my arm, signaling for me to follow her up to the front of the room. A small smile spread across my lips as I allowed myself to feel the tiny bit of nerves that was actually there.

"This is Brittany, everyone," Santana's silky voice called out to the class to acknowledge me. She ran her hand over my shoulder reassuringly, but the touch was so laced with care and friendship that it burned. Yet, I didn't pull away. I just stood there and allowed her to stroke my back and send me further into a dark, guilty place.

Mr. Schuester strode up beside me and placed his arm around my shoulder, replacing Santana's. I let out a deep sigh, a breath I wasn't aware I was holding, finally relieved to have someone unfamiliar touching me instead.

I continued to force out my smile as Mr. Schuester made to speak, but was cut off by Santana.

"Brittany, this is Wheezy, Cripple, Lady, and Eyebrows," she gestured her painted black nail towards four now disgruntled teens in the front row. I arched my brow in slight amusement, turning my head slightly to catch Mr. Schuester pulling the sheet music over his face in defeat.

"You already know Quinn and Idiot," the nail fell on Puck who gave a shrug, almost agreeing with the name.

I could here the teacher somewhat silently correcting their names as Santana called out her pseudonyms for everyone. I tuned in and out between the two, catching each name.

The first four were Mercedes, Artie, Kurt, and Blaine. Rachel and Finn were the Keebler Elf and the tree stump she lived in. I had to stifle a chuckle, "Don't be mean, _San_." I lightly bumped her with my shoulder with the whisper.

San. It had slipped out and now I couldn't take it back. Sure it was only shortening her first name, and it may have seemed harmless. It was actually probably beneficial that I get close to her, refer to her with affection, but how far could I take it that it wouldn't be acting anymore? It was probably best to mentally shrug it off, but it was becoming more difficult.

There was something about her that set her apart from all of my other targets, yet I couldn't place what it was. And that was driving me crazy.

She sighed beside me, "fine, the last two are Mike and Tina." The amusement was gone from her voice, but she was still nonetheless happy. Mike and Tina seemed happy to be spared the slew of nicknames Santana no doubt spent all summer conjuring up.

"So," Mr. Schuester cleared his throat to offset the angry glances we were receiving, "what is it that you like to do, Brittany? Do you sing or dance or, what?" The level of intrigue in his voice told me he enjoyed his job way too much.

"I dance," the sound of leather stretching as I scrunched my shoulders together mirrored my inward laughing. _I dance_, I thought. It was a steep understatement. Training to kill diplomats meant I might find myself in a ballroom situation, in which I would have to demonstrate perfect manners and perfect dancing. I took classes in ballroom until I became more interested in it personally. From then on, I took modern and hip hop classes in what spare time I had to myself. Dancing was an escape for me, and it improved my craft, made me lighter and more nimble, more precise.

Happiness seemed to radiate through Mr. Schuester's hands with each thundering clap. I turned to meet his gaze and million-watt smile that split his face into two equally happy parts. However, as soon as he opened his mouth to say something, Rachel climbed down from her perch by Finn.

"Mr. Schue, if you don't mind. I've taken the liberty of preparing a special number that I think will kickstart our year and set us in the proper direction towards Nationals." Her smile was quickly becoming obnoxious as each stride towards us she took boosted how sure she was of herself and her talent. I told myself to be patient, I hadn't even heard her sing yet. But, something about the glares everyone was sending her and the annoyed sighs told me that no one was particularly welcome to her idea.

"Rachel, that's great and everything, but-" the curly headed man tried, but like clockwork, Rachel cut him off again.

"I know, what you're going to say. Brittany is more than welcome to dance to it, if she feels so inclined."

"I'm not a recliner," I deadpanned quietly, mostly towards Santana who supplied a confused look through her permanent scowl.

Rachel smiled sweetly towards me, awaiting my response but I noticed Puck stirring from his chair, grabbing a red Les Paul guitar from a stand and striding over.

"Look, no disrespect to my number one Jew here, but Rachel, we seriously need to start this year off with a sexy mysterious bang. Get our mojo back. And let's face it, I'm the only one who can deliver in that department." He slipped the guitar strap over his shoulder and chuckled with the same cocky smirk he always sported.

Mr. Schue sighed, resigned to the idea. Rachel didn't put up a fight, taking in the angry glances from her team mates before scurrying back to her seat.

"Come on, I'm sure you can rock out to this. Make me look good," he winked at me knowingly as Santana slinked back to her seat and the music started up.

It was a powerful rock intro with a strong, spy quality to the wailing guitar Puck masterfully played.

I moved my body around his as he began to sing, circling him much like an animal does it's prey before doing a short tumble on the floor, ending in a dramatic arch.

_If you take a life, do you know what you'll give? Odds are you won't like what it is._

His voice was smooth, and his eyes trailed on my every move, rotating his head to meet my gaze. However, as I reached my hand over his chest to trail it down slowly, my eyes were looking passed him to the fixed gaze of two brown eyes, shrouded by the more dramatic lighting that had been provided under the dimmed lights.

_When the storm arrives would you be seen with me by the merciless eyes I've deceived?_

Puck turned to the side, bracing my weight against his back as I dropped down low and spread my legs in a deep squat. My eyes still glued to Santana. I needed to see her squirm, and I had gotten my wish and then some. The look in her eyes was pure lust.

I allowed myself a quick glance to the others around the room as I flipped my hair quickly, grabbing a handful to slide across my lips. They were all captivated, even Rachel Berry.

_I've seen angels fall from blinding heights, but you yourself are nothing so divine_

I stalked over with the beat towards Santana, pushing her back against her chair, Puck followed me, taking the seat next to her as I straddled her in front of everyone. I could feel the heat radiating from her body as I brought my lips to her ear.

_Just next in line_

She shivered beneath me as I ghosted my fingertips over her collarbone, but I pulled myself away quickly as he began the chorus, swinging my arms to Puck's strong neck leading him back towards the center of the room.

_Arm yourself because no one else here will save you. _

I licked my lips, giving her one more glance before doing a body roll against Puck's side. He leaned into me as he strummed.

_The odds will betray you and I will replace you. _

It was such an oddly fitting song that it was borderline ironic. It was almost eerie that Puck had chosen such a song with such lyrics. It's like he knew.

_You can't deny the price it may never fulfill you, it longs to kill you. Are you willing to die?_

I stared deeply into her eyes. My cold blues were piercing, as I continued my ministrations against Puck's body, using him as a tool to convey what I was feeling. I realized how cruel, how sinister, all of this was but I couldn't let it show on my features. One sign of weakness, and I knew she would notice. And yet she had no idea and that both thrilled me, like it should have, and devastated me all at once.

_The coldest blood runs through my veins. You know my name. _

Her tight neck moved quickly with a large gulp as I moved my body closely with Puck's.

I continued to dance with him suggestively throughout the rest of the song. The guitar was a powerful motivator for my body's movements, but somehow this was the first time I could not completely lose myself in a dance.

When the music finally died down with Puck's robust voice and scratchy, perfect lyrics ending the song giving everyone something to remember. I panted somewhat heavily against his back before he turned and snaked his arm around my waist giving me a gentle squeeze that I could tell was a small thank you.

I smiled genuinely at him before blowing a stray strand of hair away from my lips. The room was quiet before Artie started a slow clap that, soon, everyone joined in on. It felt good, I had to admit.

Venturing a glance, I peaked through my curtain of hair to see a dark haired girl that was panting almost as much as I was. It was in that moment that I knew I was doing exactly what I needed to do to succeed.


	3. Hold

Oh god, you guys! Thanks for being so patient! I've been so swamped between work and school, and I had a few decisions to make on how to start out this chapter. I decided to just dive right into it, so I hope you like the direction it takes! I have a lot of ideas in store for later chapters, so these initial ones are a bit drier, a little harder for me to write, but I hope you enjoy them anyway. I'll try to give you some goodies to enjoy here and there. ;)

Anyways! Here's chapter 3!

**. . .**

Glee club had long since been forgotten, the nervous car ride tailing her car to her house was even more distant, but the way my body crashed upon hers was fresh and ongoing. I didn't even have time to survey the house, find out what it looked like, or check for anyone else before her lips landed on mine in a primal struggle against her front door.

Her lips tasted somewhat like tobacco and mint. Mostly mint, but I was good at picking up small traces of things. This was the first time the taste of tobacco had me reeling, and wanting more.

I was going to enjoy this.

When her hands weren't cupping my face, they were attacking the lock with keys. Santana's bare thigh parted my legs against the door.

"Wait, not here." I broke the kiss, my lips were starting to swell against her already naturally plump ones. My voice was soft, full of begging. I just needed to get her inside and out of view if this was going to go down like this.

I detected a slight whimper from her parted lips as she separated from me, pulled the door open and lead me towards the dark staircase to the upper level.

It didn't take long before my back was against her black comforter and her hands were on either side of my head. She dipped her head down to hungrily capture any bit of my skin in her lips, sucking, nipping gently with her teeth at the most sensitive areas. Truth be told, I was being driven wild. The pulling, tugging heat was mustering swiftly in my stomach and my hips were moving on their own accord, seeking out some form of friction.

She moaned softly against my neck, her tongue darting out to catch a taste of the lingering salt on my heated skin.

"You know what would be really great?" Santana asked in a low tone, barely audible against my ear. I felt her delicate fingertips dip teasingly at the waistband of my jeans. I gulped and let out a slow moan as her knee came down to meet my grinding hips.

I wasn't normally on the bottom in this type of scenario, but I could tell she was normally in control.

I liked that. For now.

I couldn't even muster up a mental pep talk strong enough to make me grab a pillow and smother her. End it all right here and just get it over with.

Clearly, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

The button of my jeans popped open quickly under her skilled touch and I felt her smile against my lips as her tongue darted across my mouth. I sucked on it, grazing her tongue with my teeth before she took my bottom lip in a playful tug.

Her question got lost in my mind somewhere between her teeth, so I didn't even answer. Santana didn't seem to mind. Instead, she just grabbed fistfuls of my hair, albeit somewhat roughly, and it mesmerized me when her fingernails ran over my scalp.

I ran my hands down her arms, feeling the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. She was smooth, and unlike anyone else I had ever felt. Her body was so alive from my touch, like I was causing small fires on her skin that made her glow and react.

Her jacket had been discarded on the floor, revealing the sleeveless top half of her dress and the perfect shape of her breasts. The heat that radiated from her bottom half was destroying my sense of control. I had to stop myself from flipping her over and finishing everything she had started.

Her smaller hands tugged on my belt loops, urging my pants to come off. I broke the kiss with a loud pop and quirked my eyebrow in a high arch while wearing a smirk to rival the ones she normally sported. I felt her weight shift on the bed as she rolled off of me and began lifting up her dress. I flipped over, hovering above her, and put my hand on hers, stilling them.

"Let me," my voice was soft and hushed, my eyes felt heavy with lust, and I knew she could see it in them. I trailed my hands up her silky skin, her arms shivered beneath the feathery tickle I was supplying. I met her collar bone and then trailed up to her jaw with my index finger before coming back down, feeling her swallow a large gulp. I felt satisfied, but I needed more.

My lips felt magnetized to her neck, following in the passionate tracks of my fingertips across. I flicked my tongue against her, sucked the skin until I knew she would be marked.

"Fuck," she cursed, no doubt feeling the bruises, the fruits of my labor blossoming beneath my lips. Her curses only set to spur me on further. I smirked against her warm skin, feeling the tiny goosebumps ghost across my teeth that scraped her tender flesh. Her skin was so deliciously sweet yet salty and tangy with her sweat.

I would have tasted her all day had she not desperately pulled me back to her lips. I hoped she could taste what I had tasted, it was intoxicating to mingle with the taste of her kisses. Completely alike, but completely different.

Her lips were so soft against mine, frenzied, and hopeless. I was literally drunk with need. The need to feel her body on mine, and the need to alleviate _her_ tension.

I was building her up, and I was right along for the ride, but I somehow found myself not just wanting to get off. I wanted to see her face when she was in ecstasy, like a beautiful baroque painting. The way her full lips would part, the moans I was sure to hear. I wanted to send her over the edge.

She broke the kiss, this time, with shaky breath and reached up to grab my hand. I rested my weight on my left elbow and let her hand guide mine back to her skin.

Slowly, I ran touches all the way down to collar bone again, this time, I rested my finger against the zipper on the front of her dress. I dipped my finger in the valley between her breasts. _Oh_ her breasts were made of magic and the small pool of sweat that gathered in her cleavage was no less entrancing. I licked my lips, and hers parted as I pushed down on the-already-slightly open clasp, unraveling the zipper tooth by tooth.

Her breath hitched as my finger grazed her taught stomach, her eyes fluttered closed with the sensuality of the movements, and her back arched up in the most elegant curve against my hand. All too soon, I had reached the bottom of her dress, but my palm was on fire from the intensity of heat gathered between her thighs.

I hooked a curved finger under the band of her dark red panties. They were sexy, for sure. I had to wonder if she wore sexy lingerie every day, and how much I wanted to get used to unraveling her like this.

And that's when it hit me.

As she pulled my attention back to her lips, cupping my face gently with her hands. She kissed me, soft and slow, in comparison to her earlier ravishing, I felt it. The pain, the remorse and the regret of something I hadn't even done yet. Was I bedding her for the end result of killing her? Of course I was. I always did this. Except...now I was feeling guilty about it. _Really_ guilty.

Slowly, she tried to roll me over again, only I sat up quickly, trying not to alarm her too much, but I stopped. I peaked out of the corner of my eye and saw a pool through her window.

She didn't seem too phased. Instead, she just straddled my hips and put her hand behind my neck to give her lips better access.

"We should go swimming," I could barely coherently speak. My hands rested against her hips, dangerously close to her backside that I was longing to touch. Now I didn't feel like I had the right.

She moved her lips up towards my ear again and sucked on my lobe, pulling at it slightly. "It's barely seventy degrees out, Britt." Her smooth voice had a somewhat pouty quality to it, and added with the all around sensations she was giving my body, I was shivering inside and out.

"But it would be fun." I tried to reason. I would welcome the chilled water and it's ability to clear my thoughts and let me think straight again. My mouth was agape, trying to stifle a moan or a gasp, maybe something in between, maybe both. Her hands raked down my shirt, which I was surprised was still on.

"No, this is much more fun." She trailed her hand down lower, and lower until she dipped one finger daringly into the opening of my jeans, toying with the lace black panties I was wearing. My hips involuntarily shot up to her hand in the sitting position I was in. She smirked devilishly against my ear again. She seemed to know just how much her breath there drove me insane.

I was almost embarrassing.

"Besides," her tanned hands pushed me down with gentle eagerness. I didn't object. "I think you're enjoying this far too much to quit."

She pinched the fabric at the hem of my shirt and tugged it up and over my head. Her eyes traveled the length of my, nearly exposed, torso. I still had a white tank top on. I recognized the satisfied gleam that lit them up like Christmas lights on a tree.

"Jesus," she teased, "don't you get hot under all of these clothes?"

Her lips continued their assault on any opening they could find. She sucked and nibbled at my collar bone before moving to place kisses on my exposed shoulders while tugging at my shirt.

"Off," she demanded with quiet eagerness against my skin. Her wandering lips were already speaking loud enough for the hunger she was feeling. My breath hitched when I felt her tongue dart out and her teeth grazed my pulse point.

I rose up slightly to aid her in ridding my shirt, but as I turned my head to the side ever so slightly, I caught a glimpse of something outside her window, just far enough away. Something reflecting the sun.

My eyes widened as Santana started to pull the shirt over my head. I did the only thing I could do.

I screamed.

"Oh my God, a spider!" I pushed her off the bed, trying my best to make sure she landed well. I heard the thin whistling throughout the air, just barely over Santana's loud grumble.

Before she could raise up to assess the situation, I realized I had caught a small dart in my hand. It was so tiny, anyone other than me would have missed it.

"Do you see it, anywhere?" She was holding up a shoe as if she was ready to do some damage.

I would have chuckled had I not been so angry. I quickly unclenched my hand to survey the dart. There were no markings on it that would indicate who it came from. Sometimes people got cocky and claimed their work with insignias or crests on their ammunition. It was sloppy and overrated, in my opinion.

However, this proved my earlier fears. Someone was out to kill her. _Other than me_, of course.

I clenched my hand again and turned to Santana sheepishly, "I've got it in my hand. But," I smiled innocently, "I don't believe in killing them, so I'm just gonna let it go outside." I got up and rushed her towards her en suite bathroom. "You'd better check yourself over for bites. Could have been poisonous, San." I pulled out my most serious expression because I knew she wouldn't deny me.

Her face was incredulous, yet she did it anyway. Not without a huff and a puff, as I was learning she did quite often.

I smiled and announced that I would be back quickly. I slipped on my jacket after picking it up from the floor and buttoned my pants before walking down the stairs and out the door.

Once I was outside, I looked around. _Carefully_. I opened my hand again and put my finger to the tip of the dart and then to my mouth. It was definitely poisoned. But with what, I wasn't sure. It was probably some sort of home brew, a bit on the mild side. Had it hit her, she probably would have passed out and become slightly ill, but nothing too serious.

The prospect of her being captured tortured me a bit inside, if only for a moment. What had she done to warrant that? Was I getting ahead of myself? Maybe whoever was trying to kill her was just an amateur.

I walked around her house, checking the same tree that I saw from her window. I knew I couldn't be out much longer before she came out to check on me, but I couldn't go back in without knowing that this threat was gone, for now at least.

Just as I was about to turn around, satisfied that no one was there, I heard a brief rustling from a nearby tree. I flicked my wrist revealing a small silenced pistol and shot into it. A small finch plummeted to the ground. I winced, realizing I was just a bit paranoid.

But what was there to be paranoid about? Something like this had never happened to me before. People didn't challenge _me._ Except, now I had everything to worry about. I had the evidence in my hand.

Should I alert my parents? Did they know? Was this some sort of a test? Why her? Why now, when I was trying to act normal for once?

Maybe this whole thing was a sham, a prank. Or...what if someone was after me?

I shrugged away all of the questions while shaking my head, sheathing the gun back into my jacket sleeve with another flick of the wrist. I turned back away from the crisp air that was settling in, signaling the fall of evening. Careful not to prick myself, I slid the dart into my pocket. I would have to take a closer look at it later.

I entered the house again, finally taking in the entirety of the decor and ambience. The smell was that of cinnamon and vanilla with the faintest hint of berries, just like a home should. It was richly decorated, warm and dark yet not to the point of being heavy or too formal. It was classy but lived in. The curtains, over the long-nearly floor to ceiling windows- were dark red with brown accents running down the seams. The floor was hard wood, the same dark wood that covered the fireplace mantel and the crown molding.

There wasn't much hanging on the walls except a few proud pictures. A montage of sorts of a girl who looked just like Santana but in various stages of life, a group of photos documenting her journey from infancy to present day.

I smiled warmly, taking in the pictures as a whole unit. It was hard to contain the subtle laughter that threatened to bubble up my body, like champagne bubbles in a crystal glass, as I looked on at the snaggletoothed smiles and spaghetti sauce sundresses.

It hit me like a ton of bricks, and it made my chest feel so heavy.

This is what I do for a living. I make the pictures stop coming, I make people disappear from the frames. I destroy families, sometimes countries, and as much as I keep telling myself that it's for the best, nothing could replace the things that I had taken.

Okay, maybe in some cases what I did was warranted, justified. And that whole business about ruining countries...well it only happened once. I had dealt with some real scum bags, but really...where was I any different?

Am I a monster like everyone I swear to kill? I erase happy smiles, the traces of love, and sounds of laughter from households and families.

Just then, my ears twitched, reacting to the creak in the stairs, made of the same dark wood as the rest of the house. I turned my head to glance over my shoulder. Smokey brown eyes greeted me with a smile to rival a warm summer's day. Her lips, which I had already begun to miss, spread into a smirk.

"Get lost?"

She was probably expecting me to turn and smile, or burst out with laughter while asking her about the pictures. What birthday presents did she like most? What was her most exciting vacation? Does she even like the ocean?

Except, I must have looked something fragile because her features softened, and her smirk dropped. She didn't say anything, though. She just stood quietly by me and continued to let me look over the pictures. It was as if she knew how heavy my body felt and was willing to bare some of the weight with her calming presence. _If only she knew._

But then her caramel arms wrapped around my waist. I tensed, but tried not to show it. She sensed my hesitation, I think, because as quickly as her arms were around me, they were gone. I turned to meet her gaze, relieved when I found no trace of confusion or sadness, just peacefulness.

I was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and I was too afraid she might accidentally expose what was underneath.

She sighed contentedly through her nose, I was close enough to feel the warm air exit her body. The push relaxed me and warmed me to my soul, strangely relieving my earlier thoughts and inhibitions, unknowingly saving me from myself. Santana reached her hand out and grabbed mine, pulling me with a gentle tug.

"Come on," she said softly, almost a whisper, "I'll help you out with that Pre-Calc homework."

I just smiled wordlessly, deserting the pictures behind us and let her lead me to her room, happy that she didn't ask questions.

**. . .**

A few days had passed with no intrusions and nothing like what had happened earlier in the week. If it hadn't been for the reminder in my pocket, I would have thought I had been imagining things.

But I knew it wasn't that bad yet.

Back home, I examined the small dart, checking for anything out of the ordinary, but even the toxicity report I ran on the serum it was tipped in ran back with a very basic set of poisons. Nothing to indicate anyone I was familiar with in the business. Which was honestly a bit strange considering this profession was full of bursting egos, eager to clash.

I let my thoughts drift back. Here we were back at lunch, though this time we were inside due to a severe thunderstorm. I was surprised that I was able to slip off into thought with the volume of the room we were in. Not only was the thunder loud, and the rain equally as deafening against the roof, but the students all around us were impossibly loud. It almost felt more like a circus than anything else, and I had to wonder if everyone in Ohio was always this loud.

How were they not deaf?

I shook my head slightly, and started my visual trek around the room. My eyes landed on Santana. I had been avoiding too many lingering glances ever since the Cheerio uniform became standard for her. I didn't want anyone to get any bad ideas about what I was thinking about doing while holding onto her ponytail.

Because I was definitely not thinking about doing anything with her ponytail. At all. It was hard to remind myself that I still had a job to do here, or at least I thought so. This had to be the worst assignment I'd ever had.

I crossed my legs and zoned out some more. Her mouth was moving, but I wasn't really paying attention. I was too paranoid, as of late. Checking around her and making sure that her food wasn't tainted.

The passed two or so days had entailed me sneaking bites of her salads or packing my own thing of dressing for her. Or telling her that eating no dressing at all was better for her.

She didn't seem to think much of it.

"-and that's when I told him, right or left, it's your choice."

I registered her smug expression. She was recounting a story to me, but now there was a pretty long silence in which I didn't think to answer her. I was still too busy mentally jotting down every face I encountered.

"Hello? Britt?"

A perfectly manicured hand snapped in my line of sight. I fluttered back to reality with a gentle shake of my head.

"It is so cute how you zone out like that sometimes." Her smile was ridiculously gentle, and seemed to drown out the noise around us. Had anyone else seen it, they may have thought the world was ending.

"Huh?" My cheeks felt warm with a blush gracing them, "I saw some ducks outside. I like ducks." I stated matter-of-factly with a bite of her salad and a muted smile.

A Mallard duck waddled passed the bottom half of a segmented window nearby almost mocking me with a shake of its tail. It sauntered through a rather deep pivot in the sidewalk that now resembled a lake.

It was then that I caught a glimpse of him. He walked-no, strutted- cooly, calmly through the double doors. He shook his short yet curly brown hair a bit in a vain attempt to shake off the excess water. The black raincoat he was wearing was drenched, gleaming and shimmering under the bright cafeteria lights.

The confidence in each step he took could only rival Santana's from the first day I met her. He turned a few heads, but most of the people resumed their conversations quickly.

He took a seat on one of the corner benches, discarding his coat on the space next to him. From there, his eyes scanned the room until he locked onto mine. The smirk that laced his lips was thick and constricting, frightening.

I didn't like him. I didn't like him one bit.

**. . .**

Clearly, he didn't belong here. He behaved differently from everyone else, and somehow, though we didn't have any classes together, I was seeing an awful lot of him.

There was something about the way that he leered at Santana that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. She never seemed to notice him, throughout all of our locker stops, and she never once mentioned him in class.

I was definitely starting to think that all of this was getting to me.

I was just paranoid. Ridiculously so. Maybe he liked Santana, found her attractive. Honestly, that thought wasn't appeasing me anytime soon. Try as I may to thwart the feeling, I think that made me even more upset about it.

Was he even looking at Santana? Was he looking at me? Was he looking passed us? Why was I suddenly second guessing my gut feeling, now?

As I walked Santana to cheer practice, I tried to push away the thoughts from this week. Soon, I knew everything would pile up, but for now not thinking about it was the best way.

"Don't forget, Glee practices right after I'm done here." She shifted awkwardly, putting her hands in her jacket. We were standing outside of the gymnasium doors now, I had to stop myself for checking the door for trip wires and convincing myself I'd gone mad.

I nodded in response.

"You've been really quiet today, B. Is everything ok?" Her brows furrowed in that adorable way they did when she was concerned. It was light, but nonetheless warm and worried.

"I'm fine," I smiled to reassure her, but I knew it didn't quite reach my eyes.

Santana reached out to touch my hand. Taking it in hers, she stroked her thumb over my knuckles. I only looked down, masking the hollow feeling that was slowly forming in my lungs. That feeling you get when you've laughed at something too many times and you remember that it's supposed to be funny, but you can't laugh at it anymore. It feels empty and wrong.

"Whatever it is, maybe we can talk about it later?"

Santana cocked her head to the side, her ponytail swaying against her jacket collar.

She smiled and then closed the gap between my cheek and her lips sweetly to place a kiss there. My breath hitched at the unexpected gesture, and the clenching in my chest now.

Thankfully, the door opened with a somewhat irritated Quinn on the other side. I smiled briefly, but it went unnoticed. She was too focused on grabbing Santana, berating her for almost being late.

Somehow, as the door closed, I felt a little better at the fact that, if I couldn't kill her, I knew Coach Sylvester probably would.

**. . .**

I rushed back to the gymnasium to find it empty. Santana wasn't expecting me to come back to her before glee club, but something about the feeling in my chest from earlier seemed to guilt me into it. Now, I found myself right outside the locker room door.

I could hear the shower running. Only one. I gulped realizing that everyone else had cleared out.

I knocked.

_I knocked_. The minute my knuckles left the door, I felt so stupid. Who knocks at a locker room? Why was I even here? Ugh, and why was I so nervous?

Maybe she didn't hear me or she was probably ignoring me, thinking I was some annoying boy or a creep. I was starting to feel a bit like that considering I didn't really have a purpose here. I slowly twisted the large handle and opened the door.

Steam settled around me, as I pushed my through the heavy door, being greeted by rows of red lockers. Was I even allowed in here? I pushed the question away just like the steam away from my face.

_They tried to make me go to rehab, I said 'no, no, no'._

Her voice reverberated around the tiles and made me stop in the middle of the room. I peeked around the corner of the lockers and into the rows of showers. God I felt creepy. I _am_ creepy.

This would have felt more right had I had a silenced PP9 in my hands or a knife, but here I didn't. I was just being _Brittany_. Just watching Santana.

Jesus she was beautiful. I could only see her from the shoulders up, but as she bee-bopped and trotted, even holding her shampoo bottle up to her lips as a microphone, she was mesmerizing. It wasn't like this was brand new information to me, but she really was a wonder.

Her voice was smooth like chocolate, sweet yet spicy with a bite to it. Sensual and sexy. She had to have had one of the most beautiful voices I had ever heard. It communicated her attitude and her personality perfectly. It was beautiful, just beautiful.

To avoid feeling too gross, I took a step back to conceal myself, content to just wait on the benches for her or maybe just outside like I should have been. However, nothing goes as planned.

I took a wrong step into a slick spot on the tile, probably left by a cheerleader while she was drying off at her locker. Soon, I was descending forward at a blinding pace.

And to beat all, she saw me.

She saw me, she yelped and immediately put her arms over her body to cover herself. Meanwhile I was trying to find something stable to grab onto to steady myself. The towel shelf wasn't exactly the best option, but it was the closest thing I had.

Unfortunately, it just tumbled over and landed awkwardly, braced against the wall of lockers, hovering over me as I hit the ground.

"Holy shit!" I heard her call. Her damp footsteps reached me quickly while the shower was still running. I wasn't really sure if she was naked. Something about being buried in towels sort of keeps you from seeing too much.

"Are you ok?" So maybe she did know it was me, or else I'm sure she would have been kicking me while I was down.

"Oh! I'm great!" My voice was overly chipper, I was trying to hide how embarrassing all of this was, but I'm pretty sure anyone could have figured that out. "Just thought you might need a towel."

Santana's low laugh rang through out the room as she reached down and grabbed one of the many towels now decorating the floor. I sat up, careful not to hit my head and managed to catch her wrapping a towel around her chest.

Her wet hair fell loosely at her shoulders in dark ringlets and waves. She helped me up with a damp hand and laughed.

"Well, I would totally make a comment about what we should do with that shower, but no we're definitely going to be late for glee club." She winked at me before she sauntered off with an extra sway in her step to turn off the shower.

**. . .**

We ran down the halls giggling and jabbing at each other. She challenged me to a race, and I couldn't turn down a duel. She sprinted passed me, so I grunted in a last ditch effort to win and push myself, but it was no use. She reached the room first and turned back with a superior grin.

"I totally let you win." I mocked, a bit out of breath.

"Yeah, right. I smoked you and you know it." She flung her hands off and brushed herself off.

"I'm just sore from that towel rack, that's all." I smiled at her, and the gleam in her eyes lit up.

"We'll be having a talk about that later, Ms. Pierce."

I knew I would be in trouble for that conversation.

We entered the room to some curious glances. Mr. Schue wasn't in yet, but the whole group was crowded around the piano. Just beginning a song of sorts.

Puck always seemed to know the right words to say, "Was there a secret meeting in the janitor's closet? His grin was unbearably large.

"Oof!" Quinn's elbow made contact with his ribcage, so he rubbed it soothingly with his hand while muttering curses under his breath. I smiled away my matching blush to Santana who tried to scowl at Puck, but couldn't stop a giggle from slipping through her grasp.

Quinn greeted us with a nod, but Finn was the one to wave us over. I walked up to him and let his arm draping over my shoulders. Santana, I made sure was close to me. She bumped her hip to me as everyone laughed and sang around the red headed piano man. Still wasn't sure about his name.

Bruno? Brandon? Bob?

I turned my head towards Santana and watched her face brighten as she easily faded into the surrounding voices. Even though she blended into the chorus as Rachel sang the lead positions, hers was the only voice I wanted to hear.

As beautiful as when she had sang in the locker room.

As soon as the song had begun, it was over. And the loud familiar claps of Mr. Schue's hands could be heard thundering throughout the small room.

"That was amazing, guys! So glad to see everyone working together like that!" He waltzed into the room, but not two seconds later did I hear a second pair of footsteps behind him.

The same confidence I had heard from day one.

I shot my eyes and saw him. Vest clad and the same curly hair, thought now it was dry. And _that smirk_.

Finn's grip on my shoulder tightened and the air in the room became incredibly tense. I shifted my glance around to see all of the discomfort gracing everyone's features.

I was glad I wasn't the only one that didn't like him.

As if sensing the thickness in the air, Mr. Schue took a tentative step towards the group, "I know this hasn't always been the most favorable idea, but we really need all of the help we can get this year."

The boy stepped forward and sighed contentedly.

"I'll take it from here," he started, "I know that for most you, it's your last chance at this." He threw his arms out in an expansive gesture. "And I know," he touched his chest and I could tell he faked the heartfelt nature of his voice, the soothing quality was like acid, "I know how hard it is to get squashed, completely tossed in the trash, and spat on by all of the other teams. I mean not placing at all at nationals must have been a real bummer. But that's ok," he suddenly brightened, "it's ok because I'm here to stop trampling on you and actually help you."

Finn was the first to speak up except for Kurt's low, "you've got to be kidding me."

"No! We all know what happened the last time you said you'd _help _us. He's just going to lie again and try to sabotage us."

"I concur," Rachel chimed, "I for one can't believe you would bring him back after everything. I mean, even I've learned my lesson with him."

Everyone seemed content to agree, but Santana wanted to add more.

"We all know this slime ball wouldn't actually help us. _Jesse Not-So-St. James._ He'd probably pull the plug on his own mother." Her stance became more defensive, as she crossed her arms over her chest.

I just stood by and watched, observing the whole interaction.

His smirk only widened.

"I know it may seem a little hard to believe, but I've truly had a change of heart. I want you guys to know I'm here behind you all 100%."

Scoffs galore and a lot of unhappy faces told me that no one was buying it anytime soon.

"Well," Tina began, "I don't know guys. Not placing at all really sucked last year. Even though I had fun, winning would mean a lot to me this year. I want to actually share a victory with everyone before we all part ways." The tenseness finally seemed to die down a bit and some people drifted off into thought.

"Thanks, Tina." Will spoke calmly, somewhat of a desperate plea for acceptance still laced his voice though. "That's the kind of spirit we need around here, so why don't we just try it and see what happens? It's not like we have anything to lose."

"Except our pride," Santana muttered, but I think it went unnoticed by most of the people around us.

I squeezed her arm slightly, trying to give her some comfort. But I couldn't help the uneasiness settling in my chest.

"So let's get started!" Mr. Schue clapped his hands together again.

"Yes," Jesse turned and locked his gaze with mine, dawning the same smile I saw at the cafeteria, "_let's_."

I couldn't help the shiver that ran down my spine.

**. . .**

I pulled up to my house at around six o'clock that night. The week had been exhausting so far, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. I glanced towards the house, not in the least bit modest, and noticed the light was on in the den.

My mother was home.

_Home_. It really wasn't our home. Just a sham, pretty much like this entire week. I had made numerous attempts to check on Santana's file more, but instead of only locking me out of the report, I was locked out completely. I sighed heavily and threw my phone into the passenger's seat. My forehead came to rest on the cool leather on the steering wheel as I cut the engine and closed my eyes.

A subtle vibration against the leather stirred me from the wheel. It was a text from Santana.

_**Santana:**_

_Hey, how about you and me pop in a dvd and cuddle up for the night? ;) _

_Received: 8:06 PM Sept 12, 2011_

I stared at it not sure of what to say.

"Oh Sure, San. But don't fall asleep, I'll have to kill you."

I chuckled bitterly before pushing my head deeper into the wheel again.

After a moment, I gathered my bag and stuffed my phone in it without responding, before getting out of the car. The grass was soggy and sloshed as I walked to the front door. I opened it quietly and stepped inside.

Truthfully, it was one of the first times I had really taken in the way my mother had decorated. It was one of the things she liked to do in her free time. I understood that it calmed her and kept her centered.

Everything was white and black in the entrance hall, sharp angles and very contemporary. I inhaled the smell of nothing, just cleanliness and realized the stark difference between Santana's house and mine.

This was not lived in. This was cold. it didn't really smell like a house at all. More like a museum or some other place they kept things that weren't meant to be touched.

I turned the corner, towards the den, and found my mother reading in a large black leather chair. It seemed to engulf her slim frame, and the eyes behind her glasses looked worn, but acute as ever. She smiled slightly, acknowledging my presence.

She chanced a green eye in my direction before setting the book down and turning in the chair.

"Welcome home," she cooed, quietly.

I stepped over the threshold and sat down on the arm of the chair. Her hand found my leg. "Hey." It was hard to hide the defeat in my voice, and I think there was something more showing in my eyes because her features softened.

I hadn't seen her this kind with me since I was a child. Back when I needed her.

She ran her slender hand over my thigh in a soothing motion. "What's wrong?"

I sank down onto her lap and coiled myself up. All of the paranoia I had felt this week, all of the anguish, the struggle I continued to have with myself, and the feeling of failing seemed to unleash in one single tear that spilled from my eye.

She caught it with her thumb and sighed. I blamed this sudden emotion on what I thought people were supposed to feel like when their mothers consoled them, but I really didn't know what that was. This was just naturally happening.

It was a bit awkward, but she held me.

She didn't press me, instead she somewhat stroked my hair, pushed it away from my face and let me quietly stay. I wasn't crying, I didn't really know how to from so long without tears. I just let myself be held.

After a beat, I looked up and caught her glance. We had the same eyes, but hers were slightly aged and green, a beautiful kind of green that sort of looked like the ocean when the sun hit the waves.

"Does the name Jesse St. James sound familiar to you?" I couldn't let go of the thoughts running through my mind about him. There was just something so sinister about his smile.

Her body tensed beneath me and she stopped cupping my face. I searched her expression for any indication I had said something wrong.

"Where did you hear that name?" Her eyes looked forward now, avoiding me. Her tone of voice was suddenly icy.

My eyes shifted around, I didn't want to look at her for fear that I had messed something up. I couldn't take more failures, not after this small victory with her, however awkward it was.

"He's a kid at school, I was jus-"

"One time, while your father and I were in France..." her voice wavered a bit, "it was the only time something ever went wrong."

I shifted to look at her full on, now. Her face was so detached. I felt like maybe I should just drop the subject, and ask at another time, but now I knew it was too far.

"We killed his parents."


	4. Release

So school and work have been kicking my ass! :( I really want to take a moment to thank all of you for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate everything you've all had to say about the story, and you've also offered some fun reviews with what you might expect to happen. :) Keep them coming because I love to read your feedback! Feel free to message me if you have question or anything like that (probably go through my tumblr **isonicedyou dot tumblr dot com**).

Anyway, here's chapter 4! Enjoy :)

**. . .**

It was rule number one: don't leave any loose ends.

"But how do you kill a child?" My mother's voice rang through the solemn silence that had penetrated the air. Her eyes were glazed over with regret, sadness, distance; and, I could tell that she was reliving something terrible. It was a look that told me that whatever had happened, was something that her and my father had tried to push away and more than likely for good reason. I had never even heard them speak about their missions unless there was some sort of educational value to it, and I was starting to think that whatever happened in France, that night, was the reason why.

Dare I ask?

"What happened?" I couldn't stop myself, my voice barely above a whisper.

It was such a strange night already, seeing my mother in this state, nearly speechless by something traumatizing. So much emotion that I was never privy to before, so many emotions that I was feeling for her, and myself. It was the first time in a very long time that I had felt the small traces of fear creeping up my spine, just as when you feel like someone's behind you.

"His parents were members of the French government, but they were like us. They... started meddling in complicated affairs, publicly meddling. It was jeopardizing to our cause." She shifted, trying to find the right words amidst what I was sure was a jumbled word game. "They were ruthless, tainted, and amateur. They were willing to risk a lot for personal gains. For _their name._" Her voice was steady, unwavering and detached, almost normal for her. "They got involved in radical ideas and wanted to raise the next revolution, a revolution to rival the Reign of Terror.

"There was a small uprising in the Southern quarter of Paris, and we were brought in to put a stop to it after the government had caught wind of it. So," she started with a small muffle, pressing her lips in a tight line, eyes downcast, "we went to their estate one night, and we did...we did our job. They weren't the only ones we silenced, but they were all we had to take care of, it was supposed to be clean in and out. But no one told us they had a son."

I kept my distance, not wanting to offer any physical comfort, not wanting to break this moment. I wanted her to spill her emotional baggage and just let go, for once. She heaved a tired breath. I knew she was trying to contain it all, but her chest continued to pulse with every unshed tear and every whimper to keep it down, her body was full of sadness.

"Things didn't go quite right and, it got a bit messier than we had intended." She shook her head in an attempt for composure. "He just walked in, sleepy, like you see in the movies when a child comes to find their parents after a nightmare, and there we were, covered in blood. I tried to wipe it away, but there was just so much." I saw the first signs of a crack in her exterior, her brows were scrunching, her eyes becoming darker and more hooded. I was scared, feeling every emotion through her now quivering voice.

"And he just stood there and handed me his teddy bear because _I was crying._ I didn't even realize that _I_ was crying." Finally, the tears fell freely, escaping her eyes. It wasn't like a dam had broken, she still had some control, but I could tell the valves were coming loose. Seeing my mother cry when I thought she wasn't even capable of emotion was scary. Not horrifying, but just this tale was... it was dark it was heavier than this job should have been. But we killed people. We _just_ killed people.

She never once questioned my silence, as I never once questioned her or pushed her to continue. We had an unspoken agreement lofting through the space between us that this was something sacred, this was a place where it was _ok _to let go_._

"Your father wanted to end it. He thought he had seen too much, I...I really should have known better. But I convinced him to let him go. He was found by the police and put into foster care. I never looked into it after that; I never thought I'd have to worry about him anymore. He was just something we could forget." Her last words were final, saying them more for her own reassurance and benefit, that repressing this memory was the best way for her to cope with what she had done.

"I'm so sorry," her eyes remained to the floor. How could I be mad at her for showing mercy? Yes, it was against everything they had taught me, and now I knew why; but, how could she have known that in saving...no not saving, but sparing his life, it would come back to haunt her. Come back to haunt me.

"It's...it's ok." I tentatively put my hand on her knee, squeezing just slightly enough for her to feel the pressure, the comfort I was trying to offer her. Her eyes met mine at a glacial pace.

"God, you look like your father," she scoffed, "you have the same look in your eyes. Hopefully you have his strength and not my weakness." She shook her head, blonde locks swaying across her forehead, threatening to stick to her moistened cheeks.

I mimicked her action with a small smile, "No, you weren't weak. You just did what humans are supposed to do, and," I hesitated, "I think I'm more like you than I think you'd like." It was my turn to divert my gaze. For the first time, I was connecting with my mother on a level that I hadn't before, but I knew she would be ashamed of me. I was struggling with carrying out my mission, and I knew now the repercussions of leaving loose ends, leaving a job unfinished.

My mother's eyes softened a little, but they still maintained the same icy sheen that I remembered from my childhood. "I..." How did I begin? "I can't..." This was the first time something like this had ever happened, to anyone in our family. We never talked about this as an option, never discussed it at all. It was as if we would be branded and cursed if we spoke of it. But I needed her help.

"I can't carry out my contract." I spoke quickly, words probably slurring a bit beyond my own awareness. "I can't see the motivation behind it. She hasn't done anything wrong, that I know of or can see, and killing her would be a waste." I rambled a bit before promptly shutting up when my mother stretched out her hand.

"Give me your phone."

I stuffed my hand into my jacket pocket and handed it over. To any normal teenager, this would have been some sort of punishment, or I should have felt violated, void of my privacy.

Her fingers washed over the screen, pulling up information tabs. As she did this, she spoke "I told you to have this done a week ago. I trusted you to do it timely, just like normal." It was as if we hadn't even had our earlier conversation, but this was what our relationship was, teacher-student, master-servant.

Her brows peeked, "has it always been like this?"

"Like what?" I moved to peer at the screen, seeing her try to access the same files that I had tried before. Like me, she was locked out.

"Yeah," I finally answered, "this is why I'm having so many problems. You and father taught me to kill with a purpose, and obviously, I can't find it here." She nodded slowly, taking it in.

"You said St. James was at your school, correct?" Her fingers slid across the screen, keeping her eyes glued to her own movements.

I nodded in response.

"And this girl, Santana, you have befriended her?" My eyebrows shot up and I took in a sharp breath. I hadn't even said anything about how I felt about Santana. Befriending was probably putting it lightly, but she couldn't have known. I couldn't disappoint her twice today.

"No, she's just...a point of interest now. I feel like St. James finds something interesting about her as well." I adopted a cold expression like her previous one. Her eyes raised and scanned me over. Maybe I couldn't fool her, mother's always knew.

"Well then, in that case, you and your..._point of interest_ need to run."

"What?" I couldn't stop the question from spilling from my lips. My back stiffened. How could she be so calm in telling me this?

She met my gaze again, her eyes though: they conveyed sympathy, apologies years overdue, care, but also betrayal.

"Your father and I can't help you now, we've already atoned for this. We can't..." her voice wavered a lot like it did earlier, "...he's after you now and I'm sorry." She squeezed her eyes shut and picked up my bag from the floor, pushing it into my chest.

"You need to leave and get as far away from us as possible. Take her and leave." Her eyes were stern and demanding, though her voice was betraying her sense of strength. "Take care of yourself, but _he knows_, so you can't think like me anymore. Forget what you know, and get away!"

When she closed the door in my face, forcing me out into the open world to flee, I realized that all of my suspicions had finally been confirmed; and, I couldn't have felt more trapped.

**. . .**

The next thing I knew, I was sitting outside of Santana's. I squinted through the morning sunshine, watching it reflect off of my car idling by the curb. I had spent the night driving, anywhere to clear my head and think of my next move, but somehow all that time driving took me a few short miles down the road. Right to the last place I wanted to draw attention to.

My stomach churned from both worry and hunger. I grimaced, knowing that Santana probably wouldn't be ready yet. I lifted my sleeve back to reveal my watch: 7 o'clock on the dot. I had been sitting on her porch for a good hour or more, probably looking ridiculous to those who passed by heading to work early.

I drew my jacket closer to myself, finally feeling the chill of the morning frost, but a small squeak of a door hinge drew my attention behind me.

"Britt?" Santana drew in a quick breath, dressed in her letterman jacket and cheerio's uniform. She took a careful step towards me as I bounded up from her steps and turned to face her, "what are you doing here?"

"I just thought I'd pick you up for school." I smiled sweetly, feeling the sun warm my back. The way it reflected in her eyes gave me all the more reason to be here.

"Oh," she sighed out with either relief or happiness, her breath tickling through the air like mist. "Okay," she nodded cheerfully.

After a small lapse of silence, she threw her bag in the backseat, placed her hand on the short roof of my car and stared across the top at me, "are you ok?" Her eyes searched over me. I hadn't even checked myself in the mirror, who knew what I looked like.

"I'm fine. Are you?" This was becoming a bit awkward.

"Yeah," the word was drawn out, hesitant, but I saw her bob her head to herself, probably trying to tell herself that she was just imagining the scared tint to my eyes or the sadness tugging in my chest.

I didn't want her to see or detect what I was really feeling. Her previous attempts to analyze me had been too close, and though I knew I needed to keep her safe, I wasn't ready for her to know exactly _what_ was going to happen to us. I wasn't even sure of that myself.

We drove to school with the radio on, trying to mask the strange atmosphere that had built up around us. Santana sang quietly in the passenger's seat, seemingly afraid to sing too loud that she might break whatever was holding me together.

When her hand slowly grasped mine over the gear shift, I immediately looked at our hands. The mixing of our skin tones delighted me over the ache in my chest. It was a different kind of ache than I had felt for her before. Now, I just felt pitiful. I felt even worse than I had when I had planned to kill her.

I wasn't scared for my own safety, but knowing that I was taking her back to school, back to where Jesse was, I felt like I was taking a lamb to slaughter.

She glanced over at me, giving me a warm smile that sufficed for the embrace I needed to tell me that I could do this.

I pulled the car into the lot and turned the keys, yawning when I felt a loose tear threaten to fall.

"I hate it when my eyes water like that," I moved to wipe my knuckle across my cheek, but she stopped my hand with her own, leaning across the center console. She smoothly cupped my cheek and shooed the tears away with the back of her thumb.

She urged me closer, guiding my lips to hers with a hand to the back of my neck. I had to stop a whimper from escaping, trying not to let myself cry into this simple kiss. Her lips were so soft and inviting, I was willing to forget my current situation for just a few seconds.

Her lips curled into a smile against mine, and she pulled back just a bit, "thanks for picking me up this morning." Her lips hovered over mine until she dipped back in again for a quick peck. Brown eyes had never been more beautiful than hers. I would never find another shade I adored more, I never wanted to try.

Where as mine were cold and, for now, they easily showed my grief, hers were warm, sheltering, caring. How the majority of this school was scared of her, I wasn't sure, but I was happy that her eyes only showed this color for me. They seemed to say '_tell me when you're _ready._' _Somehow, I had been blessed enough to find her, and all of the impending badness and peril I had gotten us into suddenly seemed worth it.

With all of the unspoken conversations I had been having with people recently, I thought that perhaps I had mastered telepathy. Instead, I just nodded against her forehead, feeling her hands play with the hair at the base of my neck.

We parted and got out of the car without another word, smiling as she linked her pinky with mine and we walked into the halls of McKinley High. Somehow, now I felt stronger than ever, ready to see this through.

**. . .**

Surprisingly, just being Brittany was easy today. There was no sign of Jesse, not that I wasn't keeping my guard up, but by letting go, I finally could see clearer without the paranoia. Maybe St. James could be reasoned with? Maybe he wasn't even here to kill me or Santana.

But my mother had been so sure. I had to have been in danger.

However, as the day dragged on, I couldn't help the sick feeling in my stomach. I realized, it was probably a combination of stress and not eating (also a result of the stress) but it was starting to increase my worry.

The few classes Santana and I had together were spent with soothing touches and her gentle coos when my eyelids became too heavy.

If I could just keep in mind that all of this was probably in my head and that I wouldn't see Jesse until glee, I could get through the day. The calming strokes on my back were slowly easing me through too.

**. . .**

Lunch was nearing its end, Santana sat firmly clutching her master cleanse. I was munching on a Peanut butter and jelly sandwich that Puck had given me off his tray. For some reason, Santana insisted that we sit with everyone from the glee club. Something about never hearing the end from Berry about team unity or something. But my munching wasn't very munchy at all, in fact, I was nibbling. And if anyone knew my love affair with food, they would know I was acting out of character.

But nobody really knew _me_ here. Not even her.

Santana had deduced that I had a stomach ache. She'd even offered to drive me home on a few occasions, but the odds of me going home now were less than zero. I was supposed to be on the run, and now with Jesse staring straight down from the end of the table by Rachel and an uncomfortable Finn Hudson, I knew I should have been long gone.

The way he speared whatever it was he was eating made my skin crawl.

Was he staring at me? Was he staring at all? Was I making it up?

Oh god, the paranoia bubbled in my stomach. I couldn't lose my cool in front of everyone. Especially him.

"Look away, Balloon Face, your gigantic head is honestly astounding and quite frankly, it's interrupting my daily leering." Santana scrunched her nose towards Jesse and turned to face me before whispering, "God he is so fucking creepy." She pointed towards him before taking a grimacing gulp from her red bottle.

Quietly but quickly, I sat the PB&J down on Puck's plate and moved towards the restroom. I could feel the questioning eyes upon me. One, two, three, four-multiple sets found my back before I heard the traces of conversation start again.

"I wouldn't eat that if I were you," I heard faintly behind me, but the footsteps accompanying the voice were getting louder.

"Britt are you alright? You look pale." Santana grabbed my wrist, but I pulled it back towards my body, yanking her forward a bit. I regretted it the moment I pulled, but she didn't seem too effected. "Are you sure you don't want me to take you home?" Maybe her voice was a scosche tinier than it normally was. Her eyes focused on mine, trying to bring me back towards her, back to our friends.

I had a duty to protect all of these people. I had a duty to her, and to my family. What was I doing? Trying to take the easy road out of this.

I shook my head and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, turning my body towards Santana fully. I placed my hand on hers, locking our fingers together with a small smile, "I'm alright." I nodded to assure her and myself. "I was just going to the bathroom to wash my face," I turned back to the door again, pushing it open slightly with my palm, "I'll be fine though."

The smile I gave her was a promise that I hoped she could see. She was so good at interpreting me, I knew she would.

**. . .**

Glee club came and went with another unexciting yet strange duet between Rachel and Jesse. Rachel looked uncomfortable singing to us, and that's new from what I hear. Apparently, she never missed an opportunity to shine, no matter who her duet partner was, granted that she had one.

I couldn't focus much, trying to make sure that Jesse wasn't going to spontaneously blow up everyone in the room with some hidden button. My imagination was obviously running wild, but I couldn't help it. Yet, somehow, it seemed like Jesse was actually helping this club. Helping them find their sense of strength, and he even made Tina sing a solo.

I was learning that, that was also new. I'm not sure why, though, her voice was angelic.

Like the earlier part of the day, Santana had taken to running smoothing motions down my back and arms. The tickle sent a small shiver through my being and spiked my arousal. I was already hyper sensitive to everything, trying to pick up on the slightest noises. So much so that the slightest touch from her had me ready to pin her to the ground.

I knew that would be pretty inappropriate here though. And really, given the circumstances, it seemed like an all around bad idea.

So I just hid my nerves under that same blank stare I had mastered.

When glee was over, Santana left to go to a dentist appointment.

"But don't worry," she said with a thin smile and squint to her eyes, "I'll be back soon so you can give my teeth a full inspection." She whispered in my ear as she hugged me, and I was sure if I could have seen her face, the same dark lust I had seen the other night would have been clearly written. "I'll text you." Her hands met my cheeks as she pulled my head down to kiss my forehead.

Everyone filed out of the room around us, and soon Santana was a part of the crowd. I watched her leave, but I felt the looming presence of someone else standing behind me.

"Mr. Schue..?" I turned quickly on my heel.

"You know, stupidity is very unbecoming on you."

"_St. James_." I met him with narrowed eyes.

He stepped out from a thin shadow cast behind the door. It was so clichéd that I wanted to laugh, but something about how piercing and glowing his eyes were through the shadow made me want to shrink away.

The same type of fitted vest I had often seen him in hugged his body tightly, and rippled with the slight sheen in the light at his every movement forward.

"_Brittany, _is it?" Strong arms crossed over his chest as his feet came to a stop a short length from my own, "I would return the courtesy, but I forget how much you people hate your real names."

I stepped forward, getting in closer to him. I need to prove to him that he couldn't fool me and that he wouldn't win. He couldn't win. "What is it that you want, exactly?" I tried to keep my voice down, but I really never understood this whole revenge ticket.

"You." He replied quickly with a smug smirk forming on his lips. "It's really that simple." He shrugged off the thick air that had settled around us, extending his hands to touch my arms. I kept them at my sides.

I couldn't help the pulsing shiver that ran through me. I didn't want to be touched by him, but my nervousness and pent up paranoia was quickly overpowering my senses.

"So delicate," his voice trailed off in a whisper as he ran his hands down the entire length of my body. His eyes soon darted straight to mine. I sharply inhaled at the sudden change, "and those eyes are so familiar. _Cold, but so full of begging._ They just look so different when there's no fire reflecting in them."

I tensed. What was he talking about?

"What?" I halted, freezing under his hands.

"You have such a lovely house here, you know? Were you planning on staying for a while?"

"What did you do!" His hands tightened on my arms, but I shook him away, pushing him back a bit.

"Oh yes, there's the fight I missed. So much better!" He smirked that same smirk from earlier, and I swore I caught a glimpse of the devil in his eye.

"What did _you_ do?" The words were muffled, forced out through my gritting teeth. I pushed him back again, and began a few paces backwards.

"Santana really does have a lovely smile, doesn't she?" My thoughts quickly drifted from my house and my family to Santana. She was going to the dentist, I hadn't even given it a second thought for her safety.

"I wouldn't worry so much about her, if I were you. For now, at least," I halted my footsteps.

"This isn't a game, Jesse. You can't just play with people's lives like this!"

"Like what? No different than you've ever done. Killing is killing, is killing_ is killing_." He hurled something at me, and thanks to my reflexes, I caught it easily.

It was a teddy bear, old and tattered, stained with red streaks and patches. The brown fur was calloused and no longer as soft as it probably once was. Worn from use, and I would guess from trying to scrub out the stains. I squeezed its tiny paw in my hand and looked up to see Jesse walking out of the opposite door.

"Send my regards," he threw the words over his shoulder, planting his hands in his pockets, walking with casual strides.

I knew I had to run now more than ever.

"Oh, and just one more thing," he ran his hands through his stiff curls, "I'm not in a hurry, but you should be. Last I saw your mother she was looking a _little_ bit tired." He drew out the words like a snake slinks from one place to another to find victims for its venom. I dropped the bear and took off down the empty halls, bursting through the double doors and bounding for my car in the lot.

I was folding into Jesse's plan for now. _No one_ deserved to die over this, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let my parents be the first to fall.

Slamming the car in reverse, I sped down the road, taking all of the back roads towards my house. I wasn't going to let it start like this.

If Jesse wanted to play. I would show him how to play.

I invented this game.


End file.
